


Dyeing for Revolution

by Fangirlcraze



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Gen, Grantaire does rebellious things for the greater good of his friends, Hair Dyeing, Lowkey mentions of courferre, slight Enjoltaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:02:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4322370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlcraze/pseuds/Fangirlcraze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But now, in this American flat, in the shadiest part of the city, Grantaire stands here with purple streaked curls among his natural brown. He tried posing a few moments ago, but then made a vow to never do that again. He closed his eyes and tried to remember why he had stormed into that salon in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dyeing for Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> For, My girlfriend Abby.  
> Because I have no clue who came up with this first, you or me.  
> Also I mostly wrote this for you.  
> Bye.

“ _I'm never dyeing my hair!” 6 year old Grantaire told his mother, who was looking adoringly at him over the plate she was currently in the middle of drying with a rag. “I wanna keep it all natural!” He smiled a big toothy smile up at her from the floor, where his coloring books were scattered about with various crayons. His mother placed the dish on the drying rack and walked over to him, caressing his cheek with her hand. “You do whatever you want honey, I will always love you no matter what.”_

 

 

Grantaire poked his curls. It's been about 3 days and the dye still looked brand new, as if he just got it done a half hour ago. If he's being perfectly honest, the purple doesn't actually look as bad as he thought it would. Extremely bright yes, but he did go for the neon. It was a heat of the moment decision. Grantaire never imagined for a second that he would ever dye his hair. He loved his Italian roots too much. Every time he looked in the mirror, it was like a reminder that no matter where he was, Italy was still his home.

 

But now, in this American flat, in the shadiest part of the city, Grantaire stands here with purple streaked curls among his natural brown. He tried posing a few moments ago, but then made a vow to never do that again. He closed his eyes and tried to remember why he had stormed into that salon in the first place.

 

_It was about midnight in the bar, Joly had once again lost the drinking competition, and was demanding another one to regain his dignity, but R insisted otherwise. He didn't want to walk a hammered Joly home, singing Marina and the Diamonds songs. Again._

 

_It was when Grantaire was asking for a check that he noticed it. Jehan. Across the bar. He had on the usually loud clothes he wears. A rosy pink sweater way too big for him, over white pants rolled up slightly at the bottom, his floral high tops resting on the footrest of his bar stool. He was sipping on some blue fruity drink, with a pineapple and a tiny umbrella hanging off the edge of the glass. It was pina colada flavored, and R only knew that, because he had had it before. What could he say, he liked the fruity drinks, too. Who doesn't?_

 

_But that wasn't what he was looking at._

 

_What he was looking at was the black, gel-haired male sitting beside Jehan, who he was totally and undeniably flirting with. The guy was wearing some fitted button down shirt that was most likely purchased from Urban Outfitters, and extremely skinny jeans that made you wonder how he fit his junk in that small of a space. He looked like the definition of well dressed. His beard was well trimmed enough where it was just scruff, his eyebrows like well kept caterpillars instead of Grantaire's earthworms._

 

_Jehan didn't need to come out to the ABC, everyone already knew. Not by how he dressed, but just because all of the Amis had incredible Gaydar. Yeah, everyone notices how Courfeyrac is deliberately more enthusiastic about Combeferre's ideas than anybody else's. Also let's face it, Jehan's wardrobe gives quite a bit away. Not to mention his latest fashion choice, dyeing his whole head a light pink-orange. He had inadvertently showed it off last Friday at the Musain, in which they all applauded. It looked good on him._

 

_Grantaire smiled a bit. He was happy for Jehan. Everyone needs to find love. That special someone. Grantaire had been pining over Enjolras too much lately. Bousset had started to ditch drinks with him and Joly, in fear of another in depth description of the “soft blonde cloud curls” and the “way he's just so attractively passionate about France! YOU don't even love France that much Joly!” . Joly agrees with Bousset, but still comes along anyways. No one should let Grantaire drink by himself after the grapefruit incident of '06._

 

_Grantaire was about to turn back to the bartender, who was still asking if they needed anything else, when he noticed it. Mr. Tight Jeans stood up from his stool, with a horrified look on his face. The guy was speaking in too low of a voice for Grantaire to actually hear what he was saying, but he could read his lips. Something along the lines of “You're a guy?”, “But your hair... and your clothes!” and “I'm not a fag, like you”._

 

_He felt the smile fade down his face, until it transformed into an angry frown. He watched as the guy shoveled out a 20, practically throwing it at Jehan, saying something like “I don't let fags buy me drinks!” and stormed to the exit, pushing various people out of the way. Maybe it was the overpriced alcohol in his system, or the feeling of only ignorance in this community, but it didn't matter the cause, as Grantaire was going for the effect, standing up from his stool to go after the guy._

 

_Unfortunately, Joly saw none of this, throwing his small pale arm around Grantaire's shoulders and steering towards a different exit. Grantaire looked back at where Jehan was sitting, staring at the exit Mr. Tight Jeans left through, the 20 dollar bill hanging limply in between his pale pink finger nails._

 

“ _So have you heard the song Froot before? It's F-R-O-O-T. Marina is crazy, right?”_

 

 

Grantaire reopened his eyes to the purple and brown mess in the mirror. That night, after he had gotten Joly a cab, making up some excuse to him about how he liked to walk home at night, he waved him off and headed straight to the 24 hour salon.

 

Here is the thing about 24 hour salons. They are extremely gross and ghetto. Meaning Grantaire, no matter how gross and ghetto he can be, wouldn't touch that building with a ten foot pole. Although at 1: 24 in the morning on a Wednesday, drunk and furiously rebellious, he stormed into the salon and sat down in the first chair, crossing his arms and glaring in the mirror until the lady sitting at the front desk finally came back to him.

 

“Uh sir? Would you like to get your hair done?” She had said in a raspy voice, proving lung cancer exists. He glowered at her through the mirror, his sight turning slightly red out of furious rage. How _dare_ anyone say something like that to someone like Jehan. How _dare_ someone say that to anyone in general, who did not know how much of a homophobic bastard they could be. How _dare_ that guy walk out without letting Grantaire punch his stupid eyebrows off his face. The lady, who's name tag said 'Eleanor', looked slightly confused and scared, as if he would pull out a handgun on her. Which isn't surprising as it would probably happen in here. He looked back at himself in the mirror, that was honestly in dire need of a good wipe down.

 

“Purple.”

 

It was about 3 in the morning when he finally got home and fell asleep on his small couch, not even making it to his bed. But now it was Friday once again and the weekly meeting at the Musain was in negative 10 minutes.

 

When he got to the Musain, they had already basically started. Which was fine, it's not like he really paid attention anyways. Combeferre was standing in front of everyone, talking about the rights of dolphins or something. Unfortunately, the entrance would be in front of all of them, so Grantaire heard a “Hey Grantair-” from Marius before it's cut off. They're all staring, even Combeferre has stopped his save-the-dolphins speech. Perhaps he shouldn't have went with such a bright shade of purple. Musichetta and Eponine were covering their mouths to contain their laughter, and Grantaire didn't even want to see Enjolras' face. The horror of “oh god what did this close minded buffoon do now” was not something he needed to see in this moment of insecurity. Instead, he looked over at Jehan, who was sporting a fashionable salmon colored vest. Jehan seemed to be the only person who could speak up.

 

“But.... why?” He piped up. Grantaire tried to form an acceptable answer that wouldn't result in the rest of the Amis stomping down the douche bag's door with torches and pitchforks in hand.

 

“Mr. Tight Pants.” He said after a few moments. The whole group erupted into confused laughter, but Jehan knew who he meant. Among the laughter he smiled at Grantaire and mouthed a 'thank you'. Grantaire shrugged sheepishly, wanting to mouth something back but nothing good enough could come to mind.

 

After the laughter had died down, Courfeyrac actually did ask, in which Jehan made his way to the front of the room and explained the matter. Jehan may have also sugar coated the truth a bit, but Grantaire didn't blame him. Imagine if he told the actual truth of the story in it's entirety, even some of the stuff Grantaire didn't hear or see. Even Joly would hobble down to Mr. Tight Pants' door and beat the crap out of him with his cane or something.

 

After Jehan had explained what had happened, all the laughter and glee seemed to die down in the room. Everyone seemed to turn their attention back to Grantaire and his whacked out highlights. Strange looks where given, but not because of his hair, but because why he did it. Even Jehan was looking at him, but he had a smile on his face instead.

 

Finally, Enjolras was the one to break the ice. “Where'd you get it done?” He said as more of a demand than a question, from his chair in the front.

 

“The 24 hour salon on maple street.” He answered without a thought. _Nice going, dumbass._ He thought. _Now you really sound like a piece of trash._ “Uh, it was like 2 in the morning, and I was maybe intoxicated” The intoxicated part wasn't helping, “And I was mad, I mean how does light colored hair make you a girl? That's bullshit. That's like saying girls cant work out or play sports cause its a guy thing.” Now he had to stop himself from talking. The quiet in the room was disturbing and it made him want to keep talking. Maybe he could shove his fist in his mouth. He'd probably get the same kind of looks.

 

“How much did it cost?” Musichetta asked out of the blue. The question took Grantaire back a bit, taking a moment before responding.

 

“I... I dunno, like ten bucks?”

 

She then continued to stand up and empty out her pockets, tossing a small blue button, and a receipt from what looked like Good Will. She pulled out some crumbled up dollar bills and smoothed them out. Everyone watched her in silence, as she counted them, and the couple of quarters and pennies she also pulled out. After a moment she looked around at everyone.

 

“Can anybody lend me like 4 dollars?”

 

Silence.

 

“What? I'm thinking of adding some color to these curls.” She said, and that's when it happened. Joly joined in, claiming that since he was there, despite not even knowing of the situation, he wanted the spice it up, and stick it to the man. Bousset then joined in with a 'Don't leave me out of the circle'. Then everyone joined in. Eventually, Enjolras and Marius were both demanding to pay for everyone.

 

After that debate was over(Enjolras made a very compelling argument, and had bought up 46 reasons as to why he should pay), everyone burst out the doors of the Musain and down the whole 3 blocks to the 24 hour salon.

 

The lady in the store, a different one than who did Grantaire's hair the other night, was smacking her bubblegum and reading a Cosmopolitan magazine before Courfeyrac sprung up to her desk and practically climbed on top of it, trying to calmly ask if they had any orange hair dye.

 

 

Four, almost five hours later, and all of the amis were either dyed and talking giddily between one another about it, or they were still getting theirs done. The lady working at the salon, who they have all come to know as Becca, is quite annoyed by how many people want things dyed and how they want it done; also that she has to do all of this by herself as no one else seems to be working their selected shift today.

 

Courfeyrac got the brightest orange highlights anyone could, now slightly resembling a traffic cone. Combeferre had his fringe dyed a dark, electric blue, which looked eerily stunning on him. Eponine even got the tips of her hair done with a shining emerald green, which she insisted was only because she could look much more creepy when her hair was wet(Grantaire knew better than to believe that). Cossette had gotten a lovely shade of pink done to her ends, proving once again how much of a sweet sunshine child she is. Marius gave in and died his whole head a dark, forest green. Bahorel was also one to color his whole head, making it a dark purple. This made him appear as if he was in a punk metal band, much to his enjoyment. Musichetta and Joly both just bleached the ends of their hair, her curls and his fringe, now acting as if they were in the movie “Legally Blonde”. And so Bousset wasn't left out, Grantaire had walked up the street to buy sharpies from Dollar Tree, and drew an abundance of flowers all over his bald head.

 

By the time he was done, Enjolras was done dyeing his hair and was paying Becca for everything. The total came to 90 dollars, but Enjolras, being the annoyingly nice guy he is, gave her a tip, making it an even hundred.

 

“Thank you Becca, for everything, and Tell Daneel that damage to someone else's property is against the law, and you're totally taking her ass to court.” Enjolras said, and turned to Grantaire. Grantaire expected him to say something, but he stared at him for a moment. Not the usual stare that's accompanied by a glare, but one that looked almost as if he was trying to figure out a Rubix cube. Enjolras had gotten red streaks in his curls, which despite how funny it will look now on when he's angry, it looks quite good on him. Like anything red, honestly. Maybe, Grantaire thought, red is really just his color. Although it's not something too hard to understand, just take a peek at his wardrobe. He once saw Enjolras strut into a meeting wearing a red waistcoat. It was strange, not only because waistcoats are generally made for women-and men from the 1800s-, but also for how attractive he seemed to look in it. But now, the red was very perky and cute in his blonde hair.

 

“The red looks..” Grantaire began, breaking the silent stare battle, “cool.” He resisted the urge to move his hand and poke one of the bouncy curls on Enjolras' forehead.

 

“Did you really do it for Jehan?” Enjolras said, straight forward and to the point, apparently.

 

“No, I just decided it was time to spice up my look.” Grantaire deadpanned, the infamous glare growing on Enjolras' face. “Is it that hard to wrap your head around? I mean, Jehan is a pretty cool dude, and he would do the same. Also, I believe what Mr. Tight Pants said and did was totally fucked up.”

 

“I thought you didn't believe in anything.” Enjolras said, crossing his arms. He had a valid point. On numerous occasions, Grantaire had use the excuse 'I don't believe in anything' to get out of situations.

 

“Well I can believe in some things, maybe not fighting for the rights of Thailand, or why carpool is a good idea.”

 

“That's not even- never mind.” Enjolras huffed and walked off, giving up on yet another of his various attempts at giving Grantaire the delusion that the government actually matters. Grantaire almost wanted to wave goodbye to him, but Jehan walked up to him, his light tangerine-like hair all disheveled, probably from Courfeyrac giving him a noogie.

“Thank you so much for this, R. You really didn't have to, though.”

 

Grantaire shrugged. “That guy was an asshat. No one should assume anything about you just because you have better fashion choices than them.” Courfeyrac suddenly shushed everyone with his voice that was too loud for such a small man.

 

“Alright guys, we should totally take a picture all together and put this on the ABC facebook page! This is worth sharing! If that's okay with our very own Jehan of course.” Jehan nodded enthusiastically and everyone posed together around a giddy Jehan, while Becca took the picture on Courf's phone.

 

Not even 5 minutes later and the whole story was posted.

 


End file.
